“An’ why shouldna I like ‘t?  It’s the right thing to be done.  An’ what’s liking got to do wi’t?  It’s choice o’ mislikings is all I’n got i’ this world.  One morsel’s as good as another when your mouth’s out o’ taste.  Thee mun set about it now this mornin’ fust thing.  I wonna ha’ nobody to touch the coffin but thee.”

Adam’s eyes met Seth’s, which looked from Dinah to him rather wistfully.

“No, Mother,” he said, “I’ll not consent but Seth shall have a hand in it too, if it’s to be done at home.  I’ll go to the village this forenoon, because Mr. Burge ’ull want to see me, and Seth shall stay at home and begin the coffin.  I can come back at noon, and then he can go.”

“Nay, nay,” persisted Lisbeth, beginning to cry, “I’n set my heart on’t as thee shalt ma’ thy feyther’s coffin.  Thee’t so stiff an’ masterful, thee’t ne’er do as thy mother wants thee.  Thee wast often angered wi’ thy feyther when he war alive; thee must be the better to him now he’s gone.  He’d ha’ thought nothin’ on’t for Seth to ma’s coffin.”

“Say no more, Adam, say no more,” said Seth, gently, though his voice told that he spoke with some effort; “Mother’s in the right.  I’ll go to work, and do thee stay at home.”

He passed into the workshop immediately, followed by Adam; while Lisbeth, automatically obeying her old habits, began to put away the breakfast things, as if she did not mean Dinah to take her place any longer.  Dinah said nothing, but presently used the opportunity of quietly joining the brothers in the workshop.

They had already got on their aprons and paper caps, and Adam was standing with his left hand on Seth’s shoulder, while he pointed with the hammer in his right to some boards which they were looking at.  Their backs were turned towards the door by which Dinah entered, and she came in so gently that they were not aware of her presence till they heard her voice saying, “Seth Bede!” Seth started, and they both turned round.  Dinah looked as if she did not see Adam, and fixed her eyes on Seth’s face, saying with calm kindness, “I won’t say farewell.  I shall see you again when you come from work.  So as I’m at the farm before dark, it will be quite soon enough.”

“Thank you, Dinah; I should like to walk home with you once more.  It’ll perhaps be the last time.”

There was a little tremor in Seth’s voice.  Dinah put out her hand and said, “You’ll have sweet peace in your mind to-day, Seth, for your tenderness and long-suffering towards your aged mother.”

She turned round and left the workshop as quickly and quietly as she had entered it.  Adam had been observing her closely all the while, but she had not looked at him.  As soon as she was gone, he said, “I don’t wonder at thee for loving her, Seth.  She’s got a face like a lily.”

Seth’s soul rushed to his eyes and lips:  he had never yet confessed his secret to Adam, but now he felt a delicious sense of disburdenment, as he answered, “Aye, Addy, I do love her—­too much, I doubt.  But she doesna love me, lad, only as one child o’ God loves another.  She’ll never love any man as a husband—­that’s my belief.”